


Heedless of the Wind and Weather

by Melyanna (darthmelyanna)



Series: west-gate: A West Wing/Stargate Crossover [19]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, The West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 13:31:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17602277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthmelyanna/pseuds/Melyanna
Summary: Six vignettes on the children ofwest_gateat Christmastime.





	Heedless of the Wind and Weather

**Author's Note:**

> The Jill vignette was the starting point for all of this, and then I decided that I ought to do vignettes for all the children of the major characters. As it happens, at least one of the children in this has not been mentioned at all because I haven't gotten that far in her parents' relationship yet, but I never seem to write things in order anyway.

Peter was having a rough year.

It had started with a genealogy project in which he had filled in all the blanks with the appropriate members of the Sheppard and Weir family tree, but Elizabeth knew her son was thinking about other things as he did that project. It was common knowledge in the country that Peter was from another planet, so she and John had talked with him on very general terms about the fact that he was adopted, trying to convey to him that he was just as loved as Jill and Siah even though he hadn't come into their family the same way.

Between the crises, large and small, that Elizabeth had to deal with on a daily basis, she was starting to think about last Christmas, when Peter had approached her to ask some serious questions about "this Santa business." Even though he was then eight years old and she'd known it was coming someday, it had still caused a bit of a pang for her to think that the boy whose birth she'd witnessed was now big enough to realize that Santa Claus was a story. What was following this year wasn't really a surprise.

"Mom," he said one night, as she stopped in his room to say good night, "can I ask you something?"

The House was voting on a bill at the moment and she needed to get back to the office, but she nodded anyway. "What is it, sweetheart?" she asked.

Peter fidgeted, looking down at his hands. "I – I was just wondering if you knew anything about the planet I came from."

Elizabeth let out a long breath. She'd known this was coming, but she'd hoped to have a little more time to find the words to tell him more.

She closed the door and came up to sit on his bed. "I don't know as much as I wish I did," she told him honestly. "We didn't have much time to get to know them."

"Why not?"

Elizabeth laid her hand over his. "Peter, do you remember the stories of the Wraith?"

He nodded. "They were the bad guys."

"Yeah, they were," she replied, refraining from giving him any of the details of the Wraith. He didn't need the nightmares. "I was on your planet with Marcus Lorne's team to meet people and come to an agreement about trading with Atlantis. But the Wraith came."

"Did they kill people?" Peter asked.

Elizabeth nodded reluctantly. "Your father – your birth father gave you to me and asked me to keep you safe. I found Lorne's team and we hid till it was over."

"Why didn't you fight the Wraith? Isn't that what the good guys are supposed to do?"

"It's not always that easy, Peter," she said. "Sometimes even the good guys can't fight back. There were just too many Wraith, and we had you to protect."

There was a long silence, in which Peter was biting his lip the way John would when something was bothering him. "I do know a little about your people, Peter," she said gently, and he looked up. "I was there when you were born. They had a saying that a child born in a stranger's presence would never be harmed." She reached out and touched his hair and face. "You've always been my brave boy. That day you were born, the whole time we were hiding from the Wraith, you never made a sound. And you know, when we got to Atlantis that night, we weren't strangers anymore."

He still wasn't saying anything, and Elizabeth truly didn't know if she was saying the right things to him. She suspected there was no right answer to his questions. He'd probably always wonder about what might have been, and what his biological parents had been like. There were no answers to those questions anymore, but Elizabeth wished she could give him those answers.

"Can I ask what brought this up?" she asked.

He looked a bit sheepish. "I don't know," he said. "I guess I was just thinking about all the stuff we do for Christmas and I started wondering what kinds of things people did where I was born."

"Well, I don't know about holidays or anything," Elizabeth replied, "but I know they took great pride in showing kindness and hospitality to strangers. That'd be a good thing for all of us to work on, wouldn't it?"

He smiled, and she leaned forward and kissed his forehead before getting up. "Time for bed," she told him. "No more than half an hour of reading before you turn the lights off."

He nodded. "Good night, Mom," he replied. "And – and thanks."

Elizabeth smiled at him over her shoulder as she reached the door. "You're welcome, Peter. Good night."

* * *

  
At the very first sign of snow, Sylvie was trying to get into her snow pants and coat and hat all by herself. Ainsley wanted to laugh very hard at the sight of her younger daughter tangled up in a pile of mittens and zippers and snaps. Like her father, Sylvie didn't always come to logical conclusions. Of course, she had the excuse of only being four years old. Her father was a two-star general, for heaven's sake.

"Mommy!" Sylvie was crying as Ainsley entered her bedroom. "Mommy, I'm stuck."

"So I see," Ainsley replied, settling down on the floor with her and helping her get out of her snow gear. The problem, it seemed, was that Sylvie had tried to pull her snow pants on over her snow boots. "Why were you trying to get this stuff on, anyway?"

"It's snowing!" Sylvie said, flopping down on her back with her arms thrown out on either side. "Isn't this what we wear in the snow?"

"When there's a lot of snow, you need to dress like this," Ainsley told her. "Right now I'm not sure it's even sticking to the ground."

Sylvie looked confused. "It has to stick to the ground? Does it ever come off?"

"Yes, silly. Eventually the weather will warm up again and the snow will melt."

"Oh." Her expression turned thoughtful for a moment. "Does that mean the snow will make a lake in our yard when it melts?"

"Not if we're lucky."

Sylvie didn't say anything more until Ainsley had freed her from the snow gear. "Lila's going to teach me how to make snow angels," she said. "But only if the snow's sticky."

Ainsley smiled. "Well, how about I teach you how to put on your snow gear by yourself first?" she asked.

Sylvie got to her feet. "I think I need to put on my pants before my boots. I think that's what made me fall over."

"Good guess," Ainsley replied. Sometimes, it seemed, Sylvie's logic was even better than Cameron's, but she'd never tell either of them that.

* * *

  
Siah was fidgeting. John resisted the urge to smile at his son's nervousness.

The kids didn't usually come to the Congressional Christmas party at the White House, but this year was special. This year, Siah had begged and pleaded with Elizabeth to be allowed to play the piano at the party, and eventually his mother had given in. She'd talked to his piano teacher six weeks ago, who had agreed that Siah could be ready to play something for the party. Elizabeth, in turn, begged him to pick something simple, telling him that he would probably get nervous in front of people.

She and John both had their doubts that Siah had listened. He was his mother's son.

When the time came, Elizabeth stood up, her gold gown rustling about her as she moved to stand before the guests. "I've had the pleasure of introducing some marvelous musicians," she said. "Yo-Yo Ma, Renée Fleming, and many others. I'm not sure any of those introductions have given me quite as much pride as this one. Ladies and gentlemen, Josiah William Sheppard."

She applauded with everyone else while Siah stood stiffly and walked to the piano. Elizabeth came back to her seat and grasped John's hand. He was holding his breath.

Siah, of course, had not chosen something easy. Instead, he sat down at the piano in his slightly-too-large tuxedo and began to play "O Holy Night" from memory.

And it was beautiful.

John knew, of course, that his kid was smart. All three of them were smart, though their talents were manifesting in different ways. But even after listening to Siah practice scales and sitting through recitals with other kids his age, it had never really occurred to John before now that his son was _really good_ at this. He was sure Siah had been practicing a lot, but this was something more than practice. This was sheer talent.

Siah's trembling hands hit the last chord and lifted off the keyboard, and applause erupted so loudly that the boy jumped a little. He rose quickly and just barely remembered to bow before rushing back to the front row, where he could hide among his family. By then everyone was standing up for him, and he buried his face in Elizabeth's side. Elizabeth laughed and hugged him before leading him back out to take another bow.

* * *

  
"You know, Ains," Cameron was saying, "it says something about the life we lead that we get invitations that specify the level of dress for the event."

"Says the man with four different classes of uniform in his closet," Ainsley replied from the other side of the kitchen, where she and Lila were making sugar cookies.

"I think you're exaggerating but I honestly don't remember."

"Mom, we need more snowmen," Lila interjected. Ainsley handed over the cookie cutter and Lila started pressing out snowmen shapes. "Daddy, what's the invitation for?"

"It's for you and Sylvie, actually," he said. "Seems you've been invited to a Christmas tea party."

Lila spun around excitedly. "Really? A tea party? Did Jill invite us?"

Cam nodded. He wondered sometimes about Lila in particular and how she could treat a friendship with the President's kids so casually. Lila didn't know, of course, how important Jill's mom was, and for that matter she didn't really understand how important her own mother was. He was glad that Lila didn't make a big deal out of her friends who lived in the big white mansion, but he worried sometimes about how she would feel once the Weir administration was over and there was no more going to the White House for an Easter egg hunt.

Lila, unencumbered by such concerns, began bouncing up and down. "Mom, can I wear my new Christmas dress? Please?"

"Ask Daddy what the invitation says," she told her.

Lila looked at him, and Cam waved the invitation. "Come read it for yourself."

She set the snowman cookie cutter aside and skipped across the kitchen to take the card. "Please wear casual clothes so we can all play games afterward," she read, then slouched dramatically. "That's no fun."

"You'll have plenty of time to wear your new clothes," Cam told her, laughing. "You know what kinds of parties Jill likes to have. She likes to play all kinds of games – and so do you, come to think of it."

"But I want to go to a _fancy_ party where everyone's beautiful and dancing."

"You're always beautiful, Tinkerbell," he said, scooping her up in his arms. "No doubt about it."

"Daddy!" she shrieked. "Daddy, put me down!"

With an exaggerated sigh, he set her down on the floor again. "Go tell your sister about the party, okay?" he said. "Take the invitation and read it to her."

Lila scampered off, and Cam crossed the length of the kitchen to put his arms around Ainsley's waist. "I suppose," she said, filling up a pan with cookie shapes, "we shouldn't tell her yet that we're going to a ball next week."

"Probably not."

* * *

  
Amid Crises, Visions of Sugar Plums  
by Brian Crenshaw

I was going to write this in verse, but my skills don't extend to rhythm or rhyme.

In the midst of a hostage crisis in Japan and an airline union crisis of epic proportions, there aren't too many bright spots to be found in the White House, but in the middle of the afternoon on Christmas Eve I managed to find one. Or rather, she found me.

There was a group of reporters waiting in the hall to get into a room for a brief photo op. I imagine people in the White House are now used to the sight of Jill Sheppard, the President and First Husband's youngest child, running around the West Wing, but this time she had a very obvious purpose. She was looking a little conspicuous, wearing a leotard, tutu, and ballet slippers worthy of the Sugar Plum Fairy herself, her hair in pigtails and a reindeer antler headband on her head. She was also hauling around a large bucket full of something.

She marched into the room where we were supposed to be watching President Weir meet with a group of college kids who'd been raising money for Heifer International. A few minutes later she came back out, and I wandered away from the group and caught up with her.

This is a child singularly unafraid of strangers. The only hint that she wasn't completely comfortable with me was when I came up to her and she took a few steps back, toward the agent who was tailing her. The agent didn't try to stop me, so I asked Jill what she had in the bucket.

"Cookies," she told me. "They're for Santa."

I looked at the bucket, which was mostly full. I told her that was a lot of cookies for Santa.

"There's a lot of fireplaces!" she replied. "Do you know how many?"

I didn't.

" _Twenty-eight_ ," Jill informed me. "Santa's never been to the White House before. We've never stayed here before because Mommy didn't have to work at Christmas. Santa doesn't know which fireplace to use!"

I tried pointing out to her that Santa's a pretty clever guy, but Jill wasn't having any of it. She dismissed my commentary with a wave of her hand.

"Daddy says reindeer are impractical."

As Jill smiled and walked away, I thought to myself that if anyone in this White House would know what kind of transportation is impractical, her father probably would.

* * *

  
Marcus wasn't sure who was trying to sleep more, Ellie or the baby.

Ellie had spent the last few weeks of her pregnancy on bed rest, so Marcus was a little surprised when she wasn't eager to be up and around. But he remembered when they'd first started dating and Laura and Kate used to joke about how much of their time seemed to be spent keeping Ellie awake. Now, of course, after spending twenty-six hours in labor just the other day, it seemed reasonable that she'd want to nap a lot.

She'd stopped dyeing her hair around the time they'd found out about the baby, so now he saw a mess of brown curls on her pillow when he came into their bedroom. Normally he would have crawled in bed with her or tried to tease her awake, but now he took off his boots and made his way to the other side of the room, where his daughter lay in her crib.

Miranda was wearing a one-piece outfit, red with little reindeer on both the torso and feet. The baby was moving restlessly, mouthing the air though she made no noise. Marcus touched the back of her tiny hand, then her palm, and her fingers closed around his with a surprisingly strong grip.

He remembered doing this with his sister's children, but it had never warmed him the way this did.

Gently, he slid his hands under her head and her bottom and lifted her up to his chest. She was three days old and he already knew that she liked him to hold her upright like this. On the night of her birth, he had stayed by Ellie's bedside for hours while Ellie slept, and he held their tiny daughter to his chest and watched her breathing with no small amount of amazement. There in his arms was this child, this life he and Ellie had created together. That they were able to make something so perfect was far, far beyond his understanding.

Miranda sneezed, and Marcus grinned, kissing the tufts of light brown hair on the top of her head.

Over in the bed there was movement, and Marcus looked up to see his wife stirring. He headed over while she turned on her back and started pushing herself up to sit. "How are you feeling?" he asked her quietly.

"I'm getting better," she replied. "Might make it through the rest of the day without another nap."

He chuckled. "Why do I doubt that?"

Ellie rolled her eyes and otherwise ignored his remark. "How's Miranda?"

"I think we're both pretty comfortable, but I don't think she's eaten in a while, has she?" he replied.

She glanced at the clock on her night table. "It's been about four hours, I think."

As if on cue, Miranda started fussing, and no amount of bouncing on Marcus' part could soothe her. Ellie held her hands out, and Marcus reluctantly gave her the baby.

Ellie held Miranda against her shoulder with one hand, speaking to her softly while she rearranged her clothes. Then she shifted Miranda down until the baby could latch on to Ellie's breast.

Marcus came around to the other side of the bed and sat down with his wife and his daughter, just watching. "She's getting pretty good at this," he remarked.

"Yeah, she's a quick learner." At first, Ellie and Miranda had both had a little trouble with this process, but as usual practice helped.

It had scared Marcus a little at first. At a hospital back on Earth there would have been a specialist there to help Ellie with this, along with her mother and both sisters eager to offer advice – helpful or not, he thought wryly. Here in Atlantis the medical staff knew the general theory of breastfeeding but didn't know it the way Ellie needed them to. They'd been lucky – Teyla had had the foresight to bring an Athosian midwife to the city, and the woman had been able to give Ellie the help she'd needed.

Ellie tossed her hair over her shoulder, but it fell back when she looked at Miranda again. Marcus reached out to tuck it behind her ear. "Do you ever wonder how Elizabeth and John managed to do this here?" she asked.

Marcus nodded. "With two kids, even. But you know they had a lot of help from everyone."

"I know."

Ellie didn't say anything else, so Marcus decided to change the subject. "I don't think I'd noticed the Santa and reindeer flying across her tushie," he said, patting Miranda's bottom. "Who gave that to us?"

"Laura Renée Cadman," Ellie replied, rolling her eyes. "Otherwise known as the winner of the baby pool. I think she was the only one who guessed the baby would come before Christmas and actually have need of a Christmas onesie."

"Well, Santa was prepared," he said, kissing Ellie's cheek. "There's presents for her under the tree in the west lounge."

Ellie smiled broadly. "What time is it now?"

"In Earth time? 2230."

"Once she's finished, we should probably get ready for mass," she said.

"You sure you're up for it?"

She nodded. "I wouldn't want Miranda to miss out on her first midnight mass, even if it is the middle of the afternoon here."

"Then we can open presents with the rest," Marcus added, setting his arm around Ellie's shoulders.

"We could," she replied, letting her head fall back against his arm. "Or we could take a nap."

"I thought you said no more naps today."

"Hey, if Miranda sleeps, we should sleep."

"You may have a point."


End file.
